


they've summoned up a thundercloud (and they're going to hear from me)

by jenlynn820



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-29 01:21:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18768298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenlynn820/pseuds/jenlynn820
Summary: Jaime is plagued by nightmares of green flame, old and new.





	they've summoned up a thundercloud (and they're going to hear from me)

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during the events of season 8 episode 4. Spoilers. My attempt to dig into Jaime's mental state leading up to his decision at the end of the episode.

_ I can't run no more _

_ With that lawless crowd _

_ While the killers in high places _

_ Say their prayers out loud _

_ But they've summoned, they've summoned up _

_ A thundercloud _

_ And they're going to hear from me _

Leonard Cohen

  
  


In his dream there is green flame. Thousands scream and die. Charred bodies, the innocent, the not innocent, wildfire pays no heed.  Jaime is lucid, an active player in this nightmare. He could wake himself but he never does.  In the dream Jaime does not kill the pyromancer, lacks the conviction to slay the king. In this illusory world he will never bear the epithet Kingslayer. He is an oathkeeper.  And everyone dies. 

That dream plagued Jaime for a very long time before he killed it, suffocated it in sin and other crimes.  Back then the only way to quiet the horror was the cold comfort that he was indeed an oathbreaker. And everyone lived.

This isn’t that dream, although it has the same shape: screams, blood, burned bodies, and green flame. The cries of anguish are amorphous, nameless until they are not.  Until one voice rings clear, calling his name, shrieking in agony, pleading for mercy from someone who has never conceived of the notion. And then swirling above that, hollow laughter, maniacal, hateful, merciless, and all too familiar. 

Jaime wakes in a panic, drenched in sweat.  He can’t breathe, can’t slow the drumbeat of his heart. His left hand grips the furs, his right arm curls around his belly. His vision clears and fixes on the far wall and he watches the light from the fire play against it. Jaime hears wood crackling in the hearth, soft breathing beside him. Finally, his mind accepts that he is in the here and now. Winterfell. Brienne asleep in their bed.  _ Their bed _ . 

Jaime swallows against the lump in his throat, his head hangs low, he rubs his eyes.  He thinks of getting out of bed, finding some wine, perhaps, when he feels a hand on his back, fingers sliding down his spine, rubbing at the tense muscles.  “I’m sorry I woke you,” he rasps.

“Was it the same dream?” Brienne asks.  

This had become a vexing pattern the last few nights.  Jaime waking in a fit of horror, Brienne arising shortly thereafter despite his best efforts not to rouse her.  At first he denied anything was wrong but the pretense fell apart quickly and he confessed his dreams, both old and new, to her.  Jaime had never uttered a word of them to another soul and yet somehow he could with her, wanted to, even. 

“Jaime?” her voice came again, softer now.

Jaime blinks, coming out of the reverie.  He forces his tone to be even. “The same. Screams. King’s Landing and everyone in it aflame. I broke oaths and honor to save it when I was hardly more than a child. Now, again, all these long years later, I see it suffer that same fate when I close my eyes.”

“Queen Daenerys and her dragons will not fail,” Brienne says, stern and resolute as always.

Jaime once witnessed first hand the brutal destruction Daenerys and a single dragon unleashed on his forces in battle. Jaime reminds himself of this again and again, that two dragons at full force would surely be the end of this war. “And yet I see it. Not merely a dream. I’ve lived through this particular tale. And history repeats itself.” A shiver runs through Jaime, a foreboding dread, bright and terrible.

Brienne moves closer, presses against his back, stroking his shoulders, his arms.  “You’re not a seer, Jaime. You saved the city then. Others will save it now.”

She speaks the truth, he has no gift of foresight. But he does not need it to know there is a mad queen in King’s Landing and she will burn the world in green fire. He tells himself again  what two dragons that are truly let loose can do… “You’re right,” he says, cutting off his own thought. “Perhaps it’s the quiet of these long days that bring these nightmares to my mind.”

“There will be word soon enough. It has been little more than a fortnight.”

“Little more,” he laughs. He marvels at it. At how his life has changed in such a brief amount of time. At how quickly, how easily the intimacy between he and Brienne took root.  At how he aches for time to stop, to live in this expanse between the end of the Long Night and the unknown that lies beyond.

“You need to sleep,” she says, using her strength to drag him down beside her.

Jaime arches an eyebrow, a smirk curling his lips.  “And you mean to force me?”

“I mean to help you,” she replies, resting a hand on his face, stroking his beard with more tenderness than Jaime has ever known.  

“Yes, do that,” he breathes, “help me.” Jaime kisses her mouth, softly, pleadingly. He needs this, needs her, her strength, her certainty.  She has so much more than he does. 

Brienne rolls their bodies easily until she is beneath him, their mouths still connected.  She wraps her long legs around him, holds his face in her hands. Jaime’s left hand slides down her body, caresses her breast, grips her waist finally as he bucks his hips, seeking her warmth. 

Her fingers surround his cock, stroking him to hardness. He exhales her name as if it were a prayer, digs his fingers into her flesh. “Shhh,” she murmurs, her mouth against his, as she deepens the kiss. Jaime lets out a ragged moan when Brienne guides him inside of her body, as silken heat surrounds him. He thrusts now, hard, deep, no rhythm at all, only elemental desire and white hot need urging him on. Brienne moves with him, meeting his thrusts, arching her back, crying his name until she comes, unspooling around him, quavering in his arms.  His own pleasure lights through him with a final thrust before he sinks down against Brienne, spent. 

Jaime feels Brienne wrap her arms around him, holding him in the quiet of their room as he trembles ever so slightly. “No more dark dreams tonight,” she intones. She strokes his hair, her lips soft against his throat. 

“No more dark dreams,” he echoes, the spell cast. “What shall I dream of instead?” he asks, feeling so very tired now.

He feels her smile against his skin.  “You told me you passed by Tarth once.”  He nods. “Then dream of that, dream of sapphire waters and sunlight.”  

“I can almost feel it,” he murmurs.  “The warmth of the sun... the gravel beneath my bare feet…” He can just about hear a distant ring of laughter, bright blue eyes shimmering with joy. “It’s the sort of warmth that seeps into your bones.” Jaime pauses for a long moment before speaking again. “You’ve seeped into my bones.”  He lifts his head, kisses her ardently. 

“As have you into mine.  Now sleep.”

Jaime nods, burying his head against her shoulder, breathing in her scent. He allows her warmth to pervade his every fiber, to fill him completely, so there are no empty spaces within him.  And as proof there is still mercy in this fallen world, Jaime’s mind is empty of everything save Brienne as he slips out of consciousness and into a dream of blue water and sunlit shores and the woman he loves.  

 

the end


End file.
